


Plenty of Fish

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6019383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting at a bar</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plenty of Fish

**Author's Note:**

> Pointless, pointless, awful future!fluff for Valentine's Day. I'm so very sorry for this.

“Dean? Oh my _god_ , Dean Winchester. It _is_ you.”

There's a moment of obvious panic - his hand tightens around his beer and his shoulders hunch reflexively – before he looks up and smiles. “Hey -”

She cuts him off before he can embarrass himself. “You probably don't remember me.” There is nothing, after all, particularly memorable about _her_. “Evelyn. Valentine's Day 2016. The bar was called Sparky's?”

His eyes go wide – they're as green as Evelyn remembers, which is nice. For a while, she actually thought it was all a hallucination brought on by too many fishbowls. 

“Shit,” he says, laughing. “I _do_ remember you. You were with that douchebag -”

“Vic.” Evelyn makes an automatic gagging gesture. Vic is a part of her life she'd much rather forget. Her heart is still raw over it. Honestly – as her father would say – she wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire. “Yeah, that's me.”

Dean smiles; after two years, he still has a really nice, sweet smile. It almost doesn't suit him – what with the leather, the flannel, the scars across his knuckles – but gosh, does it make him look pretty. Definitely prettier than any of the hometown boys. Sure, he's two years older, but that hasn't done him any harm in the looks department. Evelyn is two years older, too, so she can't talk.

Except he definitely looks...happier, she thinks. Like maybe the world is weighing on him a little less.

“So, how are you?” She asks, hopping up onto the bar stool, motioning for the bartender to bring her another drink.

“I'm...good. Yeah, pretty good.” He sounds kind of surprised by it. Evelyn can relate; sometimes these things sneak up on you. “How about you? Please tell me you got rid of Vic the Dick.”

“Did I _ever_ ,” Evelyn laughs. “I never did thank you, by the way – for getting me home that night.”

“Actually,” Dean shakes his head, grinning, little motes of colour climbing up in his cheeks. “You kinda _did_.”

He taps a finger against his neck, eyes still slightly averted, sweetly shy about a simple hickey in a way that shouldn't be endearing, but really is.

Evelyn, on the other hand, is shameless, and lets her face pull into a deep, slow grin. “Believe me, you deserved more thanks than that for getting Vic out of my life.”

Maybe because she's had a few too many drinks, maybe because Dean really is a sweet guy – none of the hometown boys would have driven her home, all red-eyed and snotty-faced, and walked her up to her door like a gentleman, or would have said, _woah, okay sweetheart – that's awfully nice of you, but I really think you'd be happier if you went to bed alone tonight, okay?_ when she tried to get him to come inside – maybe because she really does, stupidly, miss Vic a lot of the time, still, and it would be nice to be reminded (in more ways than one) that there are better guys than him out there; Evelyn reaches over and puts her hand on Dean's thigh. She feels the muscle tense underneath the worn-soft denim.

“Uh -” he says, and Evelyn knows that tone well enough to feel a cold kick of disappointment. “Not that I wouldn't but -”

“You're waiting for someone.” Because of course he is; that's Evelyn's luck, right there. Almost just as she says it, the door opens up and another guy comes in: worn jeans, long coat, mussed, dark hair, piercing blue eyes. He gets more than a few looks from the girls – and the guys – milling around the room, but he heads straight for the bar like he knows exactly where he's going. Dean sees him coming, and goes red around the ears; but Evelyn can see him fighting back a smile as the guy strides right up to the bar and just about lodges himself up against Dean's shoulder.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean grins, hugely, and oh – Evelyn feels a deep pang of jealousy, even if it's the sort of smile you can't look at without your heart feeling a little bit lighter. “Hey, Cas.” He sways so their shoulders knock, then motions in Evelyn's direction. “This is Evelyn – old friend. Evelyn, this is my – ah – this is Cas.”

He shakes her hand, his posture so rigid and face so serious that it's like he's interviewing for a job, instead of meeting someone at a bar. 

Dean slides off his stool and claps him on the shoulder. “Well, alright. We gonna get out of here?”

“I thought we were going to have a beer,” Cas says. He looks at Dean, and the second their eyes meet, it's like the air somehow jumps around them, and there's actually a second of perfect stillness and silence in a room that won't really be silent for hours.

It's no wonder, Evelyn thinks, that Dean didn't take her up on her offer, if he was waiting for _this_.

“You boys have a good night!” she says, brightly, giving Dean a little shove towards the door. He tows Cas with him by the arm of his coat, saying something about beer _back at the room_ until they disappear out the door and into the cold night.

It's not as disappointing as she thought it would be to see them go.


End file.
